


To The Victor, His Spoils

by RegularRainbow



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Sexually Suggestive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26147116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegularRainbow/pseuds/RegularRainbow
Summary: You are a warrior; little is gained from your easy defeat. It's simply an admission of weakness, of an omega submitting mind and body to instinctive lust. Hardly anything if you ask your opponent, King Orm, as well. A warrior too, your equal, unless, of course, he is the one fighting you, then you became an instinct driven puddle of lust.
Relationships: Orm Marius/Reader, Orm Marius/You
Kudos: 19





	To The Victor, His Spoils

You are a warrior; little is gained from your easy defeat. It's simply an admission of weakness, of an omega submitting -mind and body- to instinctive lust. Hardly anything if you ask your opponent, King Orm, as well. A warrior too, your equal, unless, of course, he is the one fighting you, then you became an instinct driven puddle of lust. 

He presses the tip of his blade into your chest—he could kill you like this. If ever in battle you suffered such a defeat, you would be dead. He could take your life, and maybe you would let him. You hadn't done much to change your predicament. You simple lay beneath his blade, pinned literally and metaphorically. 

He withdraws his blade and extends a comrades hand, he is not your enemy, he pulls you up. You fight the instinct to press against his broad chest, to submit to the instinctive mine, mine, mine of an omega to a suitable alpha. 

"You did well," Orm says; a lie, but otherwise genuine. 

"As did you," You reply, dusting the dirt from your person. Embarrassment and Frustration wage war within you. You are aching in your soul to leave, to be away from the man who has cause you such emotional turmoil. With manners cast aside, you leave, almost racing to the sanctuary of your bed chambers. Lust is a stupid thing and you are not weak enough to give in -not yet-.

***

A knocking on your door wakes you. The sun had gone down many hours ago, and you would have imagined everyone to be asleep. You lay warm and comfortable in bed, hoping your late night visitor would leave. Another bout of aggressive knocking tells you visitor doesn't intend to leave. 

With a sigh and a stretch of bone, you get up and open the door. Orm enters without words. Pushing you into the room with him until you knock against the bed and fall to a seat as he leans over you.

"What are you doing?" you ask, as if you this moment was not ripped for your fantasies, as if you do not want him. Orm licks his lips, settling into an easy smirk. 

"You lost" he says, as if that means something. "A winner comes to collect his spoils." 

Your body is molten; putty in his presence. You instincts are burning to submit, submit, submit. He catches your lip between his teeth, a brutal kiss stolen from your willing mouth. He bites down your neck, sucking claims into your skin. You give in, weakness be damned. Allowing him to bed you, over and over. 

*** 

When he lays you out flat, blade pressed into your chest. You do not fantasize—you remember— the press of his body against yours, the weakness of it all. He helps you up and pulls you close. Licking a strip up your neck. " To the victor, his spoils


End file.
